Shred of doubt, p.16
Shred of Doubt, page 16
I stood staring at him for at least ten seconds. My mouth must have dropped wide open.
“You just don’t get it.” I felt tears welling up. “I love you so much and the thought of you heading back to Ireland is tearing me apart. Every waking minute I’m thinking of something I can do or say to keep you here, but I’m at a loss.”
Jimmy stood there. The Walkman made a strange noise. He stopped it and opened it. The tape had been chewed up.
“Shit!”
“Did you hear what I said?”
“Yes I did.”
“And you care more about your tape getting damaged than my heart.”
“Don’t be so melodramatic. We always knew that this was a summer thing. I thought you’d be happy. We can cherish the two extra weeks with a grand finale at the concert of the best band in the world.”
“Before you head back to Ireland and we never see each other again.”
“We don’t know that. I’ll try and come back every year, I promise.”
“By the way, the concert is in October, right? I thought you’d be back in university by then.”
He looked down sheepishly. “I’m supposed to yeah, but I can miss a week. It’ll be fine. I’ll catch up.”
“I think you can find someone else to go with you. I’m not interested.”
I marched away.
When I reached outside, he caught up with me again, but this time without the Walkman and damaged R.E.M. cassette.
“Chelsea. Wait!”
I stopped but refused to turn around.
“What’s wrong with you? Don’t leave like this.”
“What’s wrong with me?” I turned around. “I love you. That’s what’s wrong with me and I’m afraid that I’ll lose you.”
“You won’t lose me.” He held my hand, examining the lines of my hand. It tickled. I hated it actually, but it felt wrong to pull it away. “You’re my Bubble Gum Lips.”
“You really got my hopes up there, Jimmy.”
“I’m sorry. I thought you’d be happy.”
“No. I’m far from being happy. The thought of you leaving me when the summer is over is tearing me apart. And the worst part about it is that it doesn’t seem to be troubling you.”
“It is. But I just want to enjoy the time that we have together now. Every day.”
“I’m not sure I can do that.” There was nothing more to say. “I have to go.”
He bent forward to kiss me. I offered my cheek.
Somehow I managed to keep the first tear drop from falling until I reached my car.
Future Me: How can someone be so insensitive to my feelings? It feels like one step forward and five steps back. In one way, I would’ve preferred if he kept that to himself. The fact that he would postpone his flight for a stupid band instead of for me just shows you where his loyalties lie.
Well, we’ll see. If my body is changing in the way I think it is, he’ll be postponing the flight by a lot longer.
CHAPTER 25
Bryan finished for the day. As he left the station and walked across the parking lot, he waved to a patrol car that had just entered the grounds. A baseball-capped head bopped around in the back seat and he wondered briefly if he knew the culprit.
The sky was clear and a strong breeze blew. High branches of the trees surrounding the grounds rustled loudly above. His Ford Fusion was parked beneath a thick elm tree. Fallen leaves lay trapped on his windshield wipers.
Is summer already over? he mused as he pulled the wipers to a standing position and wiped the leaves away.
From the corner of his eye, he spotted a taxi stopping on the main road as a passenger got out and entered the station grounds. It didn’t take Bryan long to see who it was.
“Did you forget something, Mr. Quinn?” he called out.
“Oh. Hi.” Jimmy changed direction immediately and walked towards the detective. “I didn’t see you. I was hoping to catch you before you left.”
Bryan pressed his key fob and his car unlocked with a loud beep. “Well, I’ve had a pretty long day, so if you don’t mind, can it wait until tomorrow?”
“It has waited twenty-five years,” Jimmy claimed. “Isn’t that long enough?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know that young guy I told you about who looks a lot like Chelsea?”
“Damon? Yes. What about him?”
A dark shadow passed through Jimmy’s face as he held up the diary. “He confirmed that the writing in this journal is his mother’s.”
It took a moment for the information to sink in fully.
“Come again?”
“I’ve actually tracked down her son. Our son. A boy that she gave birth to months after she went missing!”
“That’s absurd.” Bryan pushed the wipers back into place and walked towards Jimmy.
“I wish I was making this up, but I’m not. Damon confirmed the writing right in front of me.”
Bryan looked at him suspiciously. “When?”
“Just now. An hour or so ago. Before I came here.”
“At the bar?” How much did you drink?
“At his home.”
Bryan raised his eyebrows. “How did you know where he lived?”
Jimmy cleared his throat sheepishly. “I followed him home last night.”
“You followed him? Why would you do that?”
“I was drunk and confused. I didn’t know what I was thinking.”
“So you just dropped by this stranger’s house today, showed him the journal, and asked him to confirm that it was his mother’s.”
“Yes.”
“And you believed him?”
“Sure. Why would he lie?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Bryan asked. “Maybe just to get rid of you?”
Jimmy scowled and looked down towards his feet, not liking what he was hearing.
“Well, think about it,” the detective continued. “If some random stranger just appeared out of the blue and said that he had a journal belonging to your mother, I know where I’d tell him to go. Wouldn’t you?”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“Did he confirm her name?”
“No. Not exactly.”
“Either he did or he didn’t?”
“He was afraid that I wanted to know her details as part of some phishing scam or whatnot.”
“Which is a fair concern, Mr. Quinn. I would have to agree with him there.” Bryan reached across the roof of his car and brushed off a couple more leaves.
“I think he was telling the truth when he confirmed the writing.”
“To me it sounds like he said what he had to say to get you to leave. He probably would have confirmed that it was the Cookie Monster’s writing to get you to go away.”
Jimmy shook his head violently. “No way. I could see it in his eyes. In the color of his face. He became pale. Transparent almost. He was clearly shocked. I’m certain he was telling the truth.”
“Okay. Let’s say Damon was telling the truth. What then?”
“You’re the detective. You tell me.”
“If we had the resources—which we don’t—we’d take him in for questioning and ask him if his mother is still alive and if so, where she lives and what name she’s going by nowadays. If it came to it, we’d take some DNA swabs from the guy to determine if there's similarity to what we have on file of Chelsea. Did he already tell you where his mother lives?”
“No. He just wanted me to go...” Jimmy trailed off as he realized that he was confirming what the detective was suspecting.
“Look. I’m tired,” Bryan admitted while opening the car door. “I think you’re wasting your time.”
“He showed me a photograph of her, too,” Jimmy persisted. “She appeared older, with strands of grey in her hair and wrinkles on her face. Not many but enough to know that it was taken recently.”
“A photograph?”
“Yes. On his phone. It was without any doubt Chelsea. I swear to God. There was no attempt in plastic surgery to make her look different or anything like that.”
“Can I see it?”
Jimmy sighed. “He wouldn’t let me make a copy.”
“Is that right? Very convenient.”
“But if you came with me—”
“I’m not going to drop everything and join you on this wild goose chase.”
“A wild goose chase? How do you explain the photograph? It was without a shadow of a doubt Chelsea.”
“Maybe the image was altered using Photoshop.”
“No way.”
“Do you want to know what else I think?” Bryan asked, as he continued to play the devil’s advocate and see how far Jimmy would go to convince him.
Jimmy was suddenly reluctant to hear his thoughts. He’d been sure that he was on to something and now the detective was going to blow it wide open.
“Yes or no?” Bryan urged.
“Go on then.”
“I think someone is playing a game with you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Somebody—probably a local who didn’t agree with the verdict twenty-five years ago; perhaps someone you didn’t quite get on with at work—he’s toying with you.”
Jimmy rubbed his forehead, not liking what the detective was saying.
“Maybe he saw you on the list of delegates for the conference and decided to fuck with your mind. I checked the website of the conference earlier. All the attendees’ names are publicly available, including yours.”
Two police on mountain bikes arrived into the parking lot and waved towards Bryan as they made their way to the entrance. Bryan waved back.
“You mean some kind of set up? A vicious prank?”
“Exactly.”
Jimmy found Bryan’s theory difficult to imagine. “Look, Detective. This guy, Damon, had features of both Chelsea and myself: The hearing-aid. The green eyes. The cleft chin. I’m sorry I just can’t believe it can be some kind of set up.”
“This goes back to my original question earlier today: Who gave you the journal?”
Jimmy’s face twisted in the dark as he reflected on Tyrone and his insistence of keeping his name away from the police. He remained silent, though.
“Whoever it is,” Bryan continued, “could be the link to this mysterious guy who looks like you and Chelsea. For all we know, he could have held an open casting call for a movie that will never be filmed and requested guys of a certain age and look. Throw in some green contact lenses and you have your long lost son.”
“That sounds ridiculous. Who would go to that much trouble? He wouldn’t even have that kind of money to hire an actor.”
“Trust me. It is not that much trouble, especially in a country where more than 90% of actors don’t have permanent job security. A low-paid acting job is better than not working at all.”
“The guy wasn’t an actor.”
“Well, who gave you the journal then? I can get someone to check him out. If he has a criminal record—”
“He has a criminal record. But it’s from a long time ago.”
“You know that for sure?”
Jimmy nodded. “You think I’m gullible?”
Bryan ignored him. “Where did you first see this lookalike? The so-called Damon?”
“McGrath’s Sports Bar.”
“Was it your idea to go there?”
“What?”
“Think about it. Did you suggest that you meet there?”
Jimmy swallowed hard as he thought back to his initial encounter with Tyrone. “No. It wasn’t my idea.”
“You see where I’m heading with this?”
Despite there still being ample daylight, a streetlamp flickered on.
“I realize you’re getting frustrated with what I’m asking you but that’s my job; to view things from every possible angle. If you want me to help you I can, but only to a certain extent. I don’t get the impression that you want to be helped.”
Jimmy exhaled deeply. “Of course I do. What makes you say that?”
“Not divulging the name of the person who gave you this journal. And not even letting me have a look at it.”
“I brought it with me.” He held up the journal in the old Bluestone Diner take away bag.
“That’s a start.”
Jimmy handed it to the detective. “You’re welcome to read through it. Like I said, the only new development was the fact that she became pregnant.”
“You’re still not going to tell me who gave it to you, are you?”
“No. I need to talk to him first.”
“Just be careful,” the detective warned. “If this person is part of some kind of scam, he won’t be happy with the suspicious questions. It could backfire.”
“I’ll be careful.”
CHAPTER 26
As Bryan drove home he kept glancing at the Bluestone Diner bag on the passenger seat. He wanted to read the journal immediately but figured it would have come across as highly unusual if he’d returned to the police station as Jimmy observed him. Instead, he got into his car and drove away as if he had other plans for the evening.
He only got as far as Bearses Way when he pulled into the parking lot of a Chinese restaurant. He glanced inside the bag and saw the pink journal. He was about to pull it out when he stopped. Whatever way he chose to look at it, it was still a piece of evidence to a murder case.
Reaching into the glove compartment, he pulled out a small box of latex gloves. Passengers in his car often found it amusing that he actually kept gloves in the glove compartment.
He placed one on each hand with a loud snap and then retrieved the journal. At first he thought the inside pages were as pink as its cover, but it was the glow coming from the neon lights outside the Chinese restaurant.
Flipping through a few pages, he read some random extracts. It was a girl he’d never met and yet he felt he knew her so well. Not from the journal but from the initial investigation.
He sat for almost thirty minutes reading it until he came to the end.
His first impression was that it seemed legitimate, but he expected nothing less. Professional fraudsters spared no effort these days and before he could discard it, he would need Forensics to have a look. He glanced at the digital clock on his dashboard.
6:48 p.m.
He took out his cellphone and dialed a number.
It didn’t take long before a male voice answered. “State Police Crime Laboratory.”
“Joe. You’re working late again. What have I told you?”
“Hey, Bryan! I know. I have the late shift this week. We just received a .40-caliber round from an attempted murder of a woman in Ellisville. I’m taking bets that it came from the husband’s Glock 23.”
“A piece of cake, right?”
“I wouldn’t go that far. Crimes of passion often have the habit of throwing a curveball.”
“You don’t need to tell me that. I’ve seen it all, my friend.”
“So to what do I owe this telephone call?”
“I’ve something for you. A journal written by a murder victim twenty-five years ago.”
“Interesting. Tell me more.”
“I can tell you in person. I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”
He hung up before Joe could object.
Bourne State Police Crime Laboratory was on the corner of Main Street and Harrison Avenue, just across the Bourne Bridge. It was a two story brown-bricked building. Its district covered all of Cape Cod, South Shore, and Greater New Bedford.
“You crossed the bridge just to see me?” Joe jibed as he met Bryan at the reception and security buzzed them through. “Rumor has it you have a fear of bridges.”
“I face my fear anytime just to see you.”
Dr. Joe Turner was an attractive black man who had a well-trimmed goatee that almost matched the color of his Oakley dark rimmed glasses. He dressed like he was on his way to model the latest Tag Heuer wristwatch. On closer inspection, his chewed nails were a giveaway that he wasn’t.
He led Bryan into a quiet sample reception room on the ground floor. A large waist-high table stood in the center with a couple of workstations on it. Surrounding the room were floor-to-ceiling shelves full of binders and books.
“So to what do I owe this spontaneous visit?” Joe queried.
Bryan placed the plastic bag on the table. “Like I mentioned on the phone; a journal from two-and-a-half decades ago.”
“Let’s have a look.”
Bryan pointed at a box of latex gloves on a nearby shelf. “You’re going to want to wear those. I’m going to be requesting fingerprints.”
“Oh. Now I’m very curious. What case is this related to?”
“You were probably still in elementary school at the time, but did you ever remember a Chelsea Thomson case?”
“Chelsea Thomson. It rings a bell. Sure. Wasn’t that the case where she disappeared without a trace? A body was never found?” he wondered as he donned a pair of gloves and pulled out the journal.
“Correct.”
Joe stopped for a second, his mind clearly processing something.
“Wasn’t there something about a hearing aid, too?”
“Damn. You’re good.”
“That’s what she said.”
Bryan rolled his eyes. “I take it back. You’re full of shit.”
“I guess that’s why I’m still single.”
“You’re single because every time I call you, you’re at work.”
“What can I say? Someone needs to analyze the evidence you guys collect, so we can put away those bad people you arrest.”
“But you digress. Yes, the girl used to wear a hearing-aid and it was found on the beach where she was last seen.”
“So what about this journal? How does it connect with the Chelsea Thomson case?” He carefully placed it down on a sterile surface before him.
“It belonged to her.”
Joe looked from the journal to Bryan and back again. “No kidding.”
“Well, that’s what it seems like. It was only uncovered this week. I’d like your help in determining if it’s genuine. You know, lift some fingerprints and check the age of the ink.”
“You think someone else wrote it pretending to be her?”
